Home of Her Heart

By Tara Goldstein

At age 10, Luisa is separated from her birth country and family when she is adopted and transported from Colombia to Canada. Seven years later Luisa still has questions. Why did her mamá die of pneumonia when antibiotics could have saved her? Why did her papá disappear? When a long-awaited family trip to Bogotá is suddenly cancelled, Luisa leaves Toronto without permission to return to the orphanage she last knew as home. Determined to find answers and reconnect with her birth family, Luisa risks alienating her adopted family to make a place for herself in Bogotá, the home of her heart.

At age 16, Luisa's adopted grandmother Nana Lottie flees Nazi Germany through the Kindertransport Program, where she comes to England to wait for her parents to rejoin her. Caught up in the brutal violence of the Shoah, they never come. After losing her entire family, Lottie needs to find a way to carry on.

Spanning borders from Colombia to Canada, Germany to England, a grandmother and her granddaughter, both survivors of state violence, search for family and a place to call home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228887539

Tara Goldstein

Tara Goldstein is a writer, playwright, theatre creator and co-artistic director of Gailey Road Productions, an independent theatre company where research meets theatre and theatre meets research. Raised in Montreal, Tara currently lives in Toronto with her wife Margot, and calls Australia her second home.

Book preview

Advance Praise for Home of Her Heart

I sat down with Home of Her Heart and didn’t put the pages down until the end. I couldn’t bear to leave Luisa and her life. Tara Goldstein has woven a multi-generational story featuring Luisa, a young woman who has a thirst for the truth, an appetite for love, and a spirit driven by both blood and her chosen family. Tara transports the reader to other continents, different times in history, linking seventeen-year-old Luisa with her adoptive one-hundred-and-two-year-old grandmother Lottie. Luisa’s and Lottie’s stories remind us of how war and conflict affect children and how their young spirits can find hope for new lives. I was transported into these women’s stories.

–Mary Ellen MacLean, Playwright/Creator/Actor/Director

Luisa just wants to know why. Why was she adopted from Colombia to become the daughter of Canadian parents? In her quest for answers, she travels across the Americas, across generations, and deep into the secrets of families and nations. Set in the borderlands of Latinidad, Jewishness, queerness, and poverty, there are creative families, profound love, and evocative art. Goldstein offers us a page turner where taboos are challenged head on and adults have to answer for themselves. Crushes and kisses steal the show, and social justice reigns!

–Karleen Pendleton Jiménez, author of The Street Belongs to Us

I really appreciate the inclusive and empathetic lens Tara Goldstein shares in this story. It means a lot of us adoptees to be represented with complexity—including the anger, grief, and sadness that we often feel unable to share.

–Martha Hen, writer and editor

The story Tara Goldstein tells here so skillfully is warmly humorous at times, with a real sense of heart, some well-drawn characters, and a powerful message at its core. Her protagonist Luisa journeys down a very difficult road toward growth, and Goldstein doesn’t romanticize or oversimplify the complex problems that can stem from international adoption.

–Blair Hurley, author of The Devoted and Minor Prophets

Heartfelt exploration across two continents and a century of facing the painful impact of childhood loss and having the courage to heal.

–Diane Samuels, author of Kindertransport and Waltz With Me and creator of daily writing prompts @writingbright

Tara Goldstein

Home of Her Heart

Home of Her Heart

Copyright © 2023 by Tara Goldstein

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-8752-2 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-8751-5 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-8753-9 (eBook)

Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

To Rose Goldstein with love.

Our time together was too short. But in the time we did have together, no one could have made me feel more special than you.

To Audrey Lowitz with love.

Our years of care and friendship will always be with me.

To Margot Huycke with love.

Our life together has made so much possible.

Shver iz dos lebn in goles.

Life in exile is difficult.

(Yiddish proverb)

Author’s Note

Home of Her Heart is a story about the experiences of queer families who have adopted children transnationally. From 2008 to 2014, I researched a variety of personal narratives from different parts of the world through written work, documentary films, and interviews I conducted with members of transnational/transracial adoptive queer families living in Toronto. The reflections of adoptees were particularly moving.

The Canadian family portrayed in Home of Her Heart is a fictional family, the construction of which is informed by my research and reflection. The family is composed of a White, Jewish, lesbian mother named Harriet, her White, non-binary partner Marty, Harriet’s daughters Luisa and Ana, who were adopted from Bogotá, Colombia, and Harriet’s birth daughter Clare. While Luisa identifies as Colombian and has a strong desire to return to Bogotá, her younger sister Ana does not. Harriet, Luisa, and Ana’s different understandings and experiences of adoption reflect the different experiences adoptees shared in interviews and writing. Luisa’s adoptive grandmother Nana Lottie is also a fictional character. Her story of being a part of Kindertransport, a program that transported Jewish children and youth out of Nazi Germany in 1933 to live with foster families in England, reflects stories Kindertransport adults have also shared in interviews and writing. Readers interested in reading and listening to adoption and fostering stories can consult the Further Reading list at the end of the novel.

Adoptees have written about transnational adoption as the intimate face of colonization, racism, militarism, imperialism, and globalization.¹ Many have described their experiences of racism, isolation, abuse, depression, addiction, and alienation through adoption, and they reveal the ways transnational adoption results in emotional and spiritual costs. They also call for long-term solutions that address the root causes of racialized children being removed from their families or surrendered for adoption. At the same time, adoptees have also written about the strategies, supports, and care practices they have created for living beside the trauma. While both Luisa and Nana Lottie experience racism, isolation, and alienation, they also find ways to thrive in places that are far away from the homes of the families they loved and grew up in.

Home of Her Heart is the third writing project I have undertaken to share the experiences of queer families that have adopted children transnationally. The first project was a play called Harriet’s House, which featured the character of Harriet and focused on how she navigated the challenges of being a White, lesbian, Jewish mother raising two racialized adopted children from Bogotá. I followed up Harriet’s House with a second play called Ana’s Shadow, which explored the different ways Luisa and Ana experienced life in Toronto and the different memories they had about their lives in Bogotá. While both plays engaged with the complexities of transnational adoption and raised issues adoptees themselves have written about, I wanted to do a deeper dive into the complicated family and societal politics of transnational/transracial adoption and fostering. Writing a story about two young women, one leaving her home in Germany and the other returning to her home in Colombia, has given me the opportunity to do so. I hope reading the novel will encourage discussions about these politics.

Chapter 1

Luisa held her breath. The Colombian border control officer peered at her passport. Looked up at her, then down at her photo again. Her heart was racing. If he asked why Luisa was alone, she might be in trouble. She was only seventeen. Maybe too young to be travelling without permission from her parents.

Are you here by yourself?

He spoke quickly, and it took Luisa a moment to translate his Spanish into English. The question she’d been dreading.

"Yes, I mean, si."

Luisa couldn’t believe she’d answered him in English. The language that had been her nemesis was now the first thing out of her mouth.

The officer stared at Luisa for several long seconds and then continued in Spanish. So did she.

Where are you from?

It was a complicated question. Louise kept it simple.

Toronto.

What’s the purpose of your visit?

I’m volunteering at El Orfanato Para Niños y Niñas in Bogotá.

What are you going to do there?

I’m not sure yet.

The officer gave her another long look and then glanced down again at her passport.

Luisa Gómez Rodríguez Silver. He took his time saying Silver, drawing out each syllable.

Yes.

Canadian?

Yes.

Born in Canada?

"No. Born in Bogotá. Silver is my adopted name. Gómez is my birth father’s name. Rodríguez is my mother’s."

Your adopted family is Canadian?

Yes.

How old were you when you were adopted?

Ten.

Does your family know you’re here?

My adopted family?

He frowned, immediately suspicious. Yes, your adopted family in Canada.

Luisa nodded earnestly and lied. Of course.

And someone from the orphanage is expecting you?

She lied again. Yes.

How long are you staying?

Six months.

You don’t have a visa. You need a visa if you stay longer than ninety days.

I know.

It was a sore point. Before Luisa had been adopted, she had been a citizen of Colombia. "Colombia with an o not a u, Luisa would tell people. Canadians usually spell it wrong." At one time she could have stayed in the country as long as she wanted. Forever. But not anymore. Now she needed a visa. She was a Canadian tourist.

But I can apply for it from Bogotá, right? Luisa asked. I don’t have to leave the country?

The second the question was out of Luisa’s mouth, she regretted asking it. Maybe she’d revealed too much.

That’s correct, the officer said, stamping her passport with a thud.

Luisa allowed herself a quiet, deep breath. Thanks.

She headed to the baggage pick-up area. It was packed with excited, anxious people, waiting to spot their luggage on the carousel so they could haul their bags off and head out the exit. Luisa was anxious too, and when her suitcase with the bright red ribbon she’d tied around the handle was finally tossed onto the conveyer belt, she cried out with relief, That one’s mine, and pushed her way to the front of the crowd to grab it.

As she joined the passengers waiting to exit, Luisa reminded herself of her next steps: find an ATM, get some pesos, and take a taxi to the orphanage. But when she walked through the glass doors to the arrivals area, she saw a woman holding up a big sign with her name on it.

Luisa’s heart started pounding. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming. Who’d been sent to pick her up?

The woman lowered her sign so Luisa could see her face. She laughed. It was Sister Francesca, one of the sisters who’d taken care of her and her younger sister Ana when they lived at the orphanage. Sister Francesca’s hair had some gray in it, but other than that she looked exactly the same. Big and round. Still wearing the wireframe glasses she had on the day Luisa left. Seven years ago.

"Hermana Francesca!" Luisa called out in Spanish.

She broke out in a huge smile. Luisa! I didn’t know if you’d recognize me.

Of course I recognized you! She reached around the sign to give Sister Francesca a hug. She felt exactly the same. Soft.

Luisa had always liked Sister Francesca, and Sister Francesca had always liked Luisa. She hadn’t been the easiest kid to like when she was living in the orphanage. When Luisa and Ana first arrived, Luisa was only seven and very angry. The smallest little thing set her off. Like someone whispering about her. She had spent a lot of time in the kitchen doing extra chores for saying something mean to one of the other kids. Sister Francesca was in charge of the kitchen. She’d give Luisa potatoes to peel and talk to her. They didn’t talk about what Luisa had done to land herself in Sister Francesca’s kitchen. She’d talk about her life as a young girl and tell Luisa stories about the sisters who had been her teachers. She loved them so much that she left home at fifteen to join their community, the Sisters of Hope. Luisa once asked Sister Francesca if she’d been scared to leave home so young. She said no. God was calling her. Luisa couldn’t imagine choosing a life of service to God. He had too many rules.

Well, I almost didn’t recognize you! Sister Francesca said. "You’re all grown up. I’m so happy to see you, pequeña." Luisa loved Sister Francesca’s nickname for her. It meant little one.

I’m happy to see you too. Luisa reached over to give her another hug. But how did you know I was here?

Your mother called Sister Lorena—she’s the new director—and asked if someone could come pick you up at the airport.

Luisa dropped her arms and took a few steps back. Harriet’s not my mother, she said. It came out too sharp.

Sister Francesca nodded her head, looking upset. "I know, pequeña, I’m sorry."

Luisa took her hand. No, I’m sorry. I know you know. She took a deep breath and tried again. Is Harriet angry at me?

"More worried than angry. You’re very young to be travelling by yourself."

No, I’m not! I’ve been on my own since I was seven. Still too sharp, she thought.

"I know, but you shouldn’t have left without your parents’ permission, pequeña."

Luisa decided not to argue.

I want to stay a while and work in the orphanage. Do you think Sister Lorena will let me?

You’ve come back to live with us again?

I’ll help you peel potatoes.

You hate peeling potatoes.

I’ll peel a thousand potatoes if Sister Lorena lets me stay!

What’s wrong?

Nothing.

Are you in some kind of trouble?

No!

Then why are you here?

It’s a long story.

Sister Francesca looked at her watch and decided not to push it.

Okay, you can tell me later, let’s go.

Wait, I don’t have any Colombian money. I need to get some pesos.

Make it fast. Sister Lorena doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

On the taxi ride to the orphanage, Luisa sat behind the driver so she could look out the window to catch her first glimpse of Bogotá. There wasn’t a lot to see from the highway until they passed the National University of Colombia. But the taxi was moving so quickly Luisa didn’t get a chance to get a good look at it.

Sister Francesca wasn’t interested in looking out the window. She wanted to talk about Luisa’s sister Ana who was fourteen, three years younger than Luisa. Although they were birth sisters, Ana and Luisa didn’t look alike. Luisa had long, black, curly hair. Ana’s was straight. She was tall and thin, Luisa was shorter and curvier. Luisa’s skin was deep caramel brown. Ana’s was much lighter. When they moved to Toronto, Ana’s gorgeous straight black hair and light skin made it easier for her to fit into their new school, which was almost totally White. She didn’t stand out. Luisa did. Ana was able to make friends. Luisa wasn’t.

Does Ana still play hockey? asked Sister Francesca.

Three times a week.

And guitar?

Every day. She’s writing her own songs now.

Beautiful! And Clare?

Clare was Luisa’s adoptive sister. She was eleven.

She’s taking Spanish classes after school so when the family comes to visit, she’ll be able to talk to everyone.

Wonderful.

It was easy for Luisa to talk to Sister Francesca. Although they hadn’t seen each other for seven years, every month Luisa had written her a letter in Spanish about life in Toronto, and Sister Francesca had written back with news about El Orfanato. Life in Toronto would have been even harder without Sister Francesca’s letters, which kept Luisa connected to the one place that felt like home.

As they got closer to the city, traffic slowed right down and the taxi crawled along the highway for what seemed forever. Sister Francesca kept looking at her watch. When they finally arrived in the mountainous, rural district of Ciudad Bolívar, Luisa looked out the window in both awe and shock. In awe because the Andes created a sea of green that was stunning. But in shock because there were so few paved roads. The taxi bumped along one main dirt road passing by one old neglected brown brick building after another. Buildings were crammed up against each other and every one seemed to be falling apart. Luisa wondered what kind of shape the orphanage was in.

When they finally arrived, Luisa was relieved. None of the windows were broken and boarded up with cardboard, and there was no garbage surrounding the house. It looked exactly like she had remembered it. Well-cared for. Luisa paid the taxi driver and hustled after Sister Francesca who was racing to Sister Lorena’s office. When they got there, the office door was open, but Sister Lorena wasn’t there. Sister Francesca told Luisa to wait.

I’ll see you later, she said.

Pray for me. Luisa wasn’t joking. She’d come back to El Orfanato without asking Sister Lorena for permission. She might not be as happy to see Luisa as Luisa was to see her.

Luisa rolled her suitcase into a corner of the office, sat down on the wooden chair in front of Sister Lorena’s big, old desk and looked around. She’d only been in the office once before; the day Sister Francesca showed Luisa and Ana a map of the world so they could see where their new home in Canada was. The map was on the wall beside the door. It was full of coloured pins marking the cities where all the kids adopted from the orphanage lived. A whole bunch of pins circled Toronto. It was very far away from Bogotá. When Sister Francesca placed two new pins on the map, Luisa stared at the pins, holding Ana’s hand, knowing their lives would never be the same. Neither of them wanted to leave El Orfanato. After three years of living there, it felt like home.

The map beside the door was still there. There were now a lot more pins surrounding Toronto. Dozens of kids had been adopted in the last seven years. Sister Lorena appeared at the door, and Luisa immediately stood up.

Luisa Silver? She didn’t sound glad to see her.

Luisa answered in Spanish. "Si. Hola, Hermana Lorena."

If you don’t mind, I’d like us to speak in English.

Oh. Okay.

Please sit down.

Sister Lorena spoke English perfectly. Without an accent. Luisa thought Sister Lorena probably correctly assumed Luisa’s English was now better than her Spanish. Sister Lorena looked Luisa over. So Luisa looked her over too. Discreetly. Sister Lorena had short black hair, a long nose, and dark black eyes. She was more handsome than pretty.

Sister Lorena sat down, folded her hands on the desk. She looked right into Luisa’s eyes, stern.

Your mother’s very worried. I just called to let her know you arrived here safely.

Luisa wanted to tell her Harriet wasn’t her mother but didn’t. Her gaze was too intimidating.

Thank you, Sister.

I asked if she wanted me to send you home.

What?!

Sister Lorena raised her eyebrows. Luisa’s response was too impertinent.

I’m sorry, Sister.

She nodded, acknowledging the apology.

I asked her if you had finished high school—

I have, Sister! I’ve been fast-tracking since grade ten. I’m done now, and I’d like to live here for a while and help out.

Sister Lorena held Luisa’s gaze. It wasn’t a mean look, but it was very intense. Luisa had to look away.

Why have you come back? she finally asked.

Luisa knew she had to be careful about what she said. She needed to find just the right words.

I have a lot of questions, Sister.

What kinds of questions?

I want to find out why my mother—my birth mother—died. All I know is that she was sick with pneumonia. But people don’t die of pneumonia. Not when they’re young. And I need to know what happened to my father. Why he wasn’t there to take care of us. Why he abandoned us.

Luisa’s voice cracked, and her eyes filled up. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of Sister Lorena. Sister Lorena handed Luisa a box of tissues.

I was hoping you could help me.

The orphanage isn’t permitted to share any information with you unless we get official permission from the government. To get permission, you need to work with a lawyer. Lawyers are expensive.

Oh. Luisa’s mouth opened in surprise. I didn’t know I’d have to hire a lawyer. Do you think it’s possible to look for someone from my mother’s or father’s family and ask them to tell me what happened?

Sister Lorena crossed her arms over her chest. When you left Toronto what was your plan?

I thought I could work in the orphanage in exchange for room and board. I’m very good in the kitchen.

But you never wrote to ask if we had room for you. If your plan would work for us.

Blood rushed to Luisa’s face. No, Sister. I didn’t. I’m sorry.

So, you made an impulsive decision.

I guess I did. And . . .

And?

I was afraid if I asked, you might say no.

Sister Lorena paused. Luisa forced herself to sit perfectly still, lowered her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. Finally, Sister Lorena spoke. Luisa looked up.

This is a very busy place, and there are rules. Lots of them. You left home without your parents’ permission and showed up at our door without an invitation. I’m not sure I can trust you to follow the rules.

She winced, now worried Sister Lorena was going to send her back to Toronto.

However, Sister Francesca speaks highly of you, and your mother says you’re an excellent student. I need someone to teach the children English. I know you don’t have any kind of formal training, but do you think you could teach the little ones some English songs and games?

Luisa allowed herself a moment of hope. Maybe Sister Lorena was going to take a chance on her.

Sure, of course. I could do that.

I want the older children to learn some English too.

She stood up, so Luisa did too.

Do you have a phone?

Yes, Sister.

Call your parents. Apologize and ask them if you can stay. If they say no, I’ll send you back. If they say yes, ask them to text me. Your mother has my number. I’ll make my final decision after I hear from her.

It was like Luisa was ten years old again, hearing for the first time that she and Ana would be leaving El Orfanato to go live in Toronto.

Thank you, Sister.

You’ll need to phone them from here. The Wi-Fi only works in my office. When it works at all. The connection here isn’t very strong. When you’re done you can go and help Sister Francesca with dinner. Leave your suitcase here.

Yes, Sister.

She nodded and left the room quickly, all business. Luisa could see she was a problem Sister Lorena didn’t have time to deal with.

She walked over to the window. The blue wooden bench next to the front door of the orphanage was still there. The bench where the